


the pull of you

by aspartaeme



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Billy is Alive, Christmas Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 03, References to Depression, Steve Harrington Is a Mess, four years later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 20:41:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21974962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspartaeme/pseuds/aspartaeme
Summary: ‘You weredead, Billy, we - I saw youdying,’ he bites out, doesn’t look at Billy,can’tlook at him, ‘You don’t just - survive tentacles through your chest, okay, you justdon’t.’Billy smiles, a lopsided, smug thing, and it’s the closestthisBilly’s come to the one Steve remembers from so many years ago, from basketball practice, and parking lots, and showers. ‘Idid.’
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 18
Kudos: 265





	the pull of you

Steve wakes up with a gasp. 

His lungs are burning, and his eyes are filled with tears, and his hands are still closed around golden strands of hair that aren't there. 

It's been like this for a while. 

It's been like this since - 

Since - 

Steve sits up. There's sweat running down his back, and his shirt is clinging to his skin, and Steve needs to - rip it off, feel the cold air on his skin, _breathe_. 

He closes his eyes, grips the edges of the mattress, digs his fingers in, in, forces himself to focus on that one point of touch, the scratch under his fingertips, the grounding feeling of the fabric against his skin. His chest is heaving for breath, and his cheeks are wet, tear tracks running down his neck, sorrow mixing with sweat, and. 

In the dream, he's always happy. 

He's happy, and safe, and there are arms holding him, and golden curls getting tangled with brown, and lips that press against his own, soft, and tender, and easy. 

He opens his eyes, and he's back in his room, his room with the king size bed, the one he doesn't need, because the dream always stays a dream. 

He lifts his legs, gets his hands around his knees, makes an effort to become small, small, take as little space as possible. He sits against the headboard, holds himself, holds himself together, and it's - 

It's December, and it's 1989, and it's been four years, and five months, and nineteen days, since - 

Steve's getting better, he really is. 

He's getting better at waking up in a world without golden curls, without chapped lips against his own, without words like _pretty_ , like _king_ , like - 

_Draw a charge_. 

He's getting better, at dreaming, waking up, looking around the room, knowing what he'll find there, knowing what he won't, getting out of bed anyway, but. 

It's been four years, and five months, and nineteen days, since Steve last saw Billy Hargrove, Billy Hargrove’s _body_ , because - 

Because - last time, four years, and five months, and nineteen days ago, everything went _wrong_ , and Billy's lips weren't chapped, weren't pressed against Steve's, weren't smiling, because - 

Last time, Billy's lips were black, and open, and _screaming_ , and Billy was breathing, until he _wasn't_ , until his lips opened, and let out a breath, let out his _last_ breath, and Steve watched, helpless, watched Billy falling down, out of breath, out of life, out of - 

_Time_. 

And the thing is - it was never like that, not between them, and Steve has only felt Billy's lips against his own in dreams, has been dreaming of Billy's kiss, and Billy's breath, and Billy's smile, for four years, and five months, and - nineteen fuckin’ days, and Steve _knows_ , he knows Billy's last breath didn't hold his name, knows Billy's smile was never Steve's, _for_ him, and. 

It's been four years, four years of Billy being _dead_ , of Steve waking up crying, and aching, and _alone_ , and. 

Maybe it doesn't matter anymore. 

Steve sometimes - he forgets, forgets he doesn't know how Billy's lips feel on his, how Billy's body fits against him, how Billy's eyes look like when he's smiling, when he's happy, when he's in love. 

He's been dreaming of Billy, smiling, and happy, and in love, for four years, and five months, and nineteen days, and. 

Steve thinks maybe - maybe it doesn't matter, that he never knew the real thing, not anymore. 

He gets up, makes a pot of coffee, waits for the call. 

It's - Steve's got a handful of constants, these days, and this call, Dustin’s call, is - the most important. 

Dustin calls, everyday. It took a long time for Steve to realize it's not because he misses Steve, not entirely. 

Dustin calls, to make sure Steve's awake, make sure Steve's out of bed, make sure he's _alive_. 

The phone rings. 

‘Hey, Dustin.’ Steve wishes he could muster, could fake, more enthusiasm, could shake the sorrow out of his voice, sorrow for something long lost, that was never his in the first place, could convince Dustin he’s - _fine_. 

He tries, he really does. The sigh that comes from the other end of the line means he fails spectacularly. 

‘Hey, buddy. You doin’ okay?’ 

Fuck, Steve loves that kid. It’s easy, sometimes, to forget, to feel - empty, to think he has nothing to give, and then. 

‘I just called to ask if you’re coming home for Christmas,’ Dustin says, and Steve thinks it’s the closest to a hug he’s felt in a while. 

It makes him all warm inside, to know how much Dustin cares about him. Makes him feel all the more guilty, because - 

‘Dustin, you know I can’t,’ he says and it means _I can’t get off from work_ , but it also means _Hawkins isn’t home, not anymore_. He trusts Dustin enough to know he’ll hear both in his words. 

‘Steve-o, c’mon,’ Dustin drawls, and he’s not fourteen anymore, but he’s never grown out of whining when something doesn’t go his way, ‘ _everyone’s_ coming.’ 

And that’s - 

That’s a lie. 

_Not everyone_ , Steve wants to say, to scream, _not everyone_ , because there’s a boy who can’t, can’t come _home_ , not that Hawkins ever was, a boy who’s not alive, except in Steve’s dreams, and Steve loves Dustin, he does, but. 

Steve’s been mourning Billy Hargrove for four years, and five months, and nineteen days, and Dustin says _everyone’s coming_ , because he doesn’t know. 

‘Listen, kid, I can’t - I can’t promise anythin’, okay? But. I’ll try, see if I can make it there for New Year’s, okay? Even just for - just for a day. Just to see everyone,’ he says, and he doesn’t mean one word, not one of them, but he means _everyone_ least of all, because - 

Because it’s not _everyone_ , not anymore, hasn’t been for four years, and five months, and nineteen days. 

He feels so tired, all of a sudden. He always feels so tired these days. 

He can hear Dustin preparing his argument, and he can’t, can’t take it right now, can’t build his defenses up, knows he’ll cave in the moment Dustin mentions how much _everyone_ misses Steve. 

He doesn’t wait for Dustin to protest. ‘Dustin, buddy, listen, I _promise_ , okay, I’ll try, I just. I gotta go. Talk to you soon.’ 

He hangs up, and then. 

Steve’s standing in his tiny kitchen, shirtless, helpless, alone, and he takes a breath, and he takes a sip of coffee, black, black, and the only thing holding him up is the counter, and everything is wrong. 

— 

Steve’s been mourning for four years, and five months, and nineteen days, and Dustin doesn’t know, because nobody does, except - 

‘I wanna talk about him today.’ 

Lisa laughs. She always does, lets out this small, soft, almost inadvertent huff of breath, like she knows she’s doing something wrong, like she can’t bring herself to stop it anyway. 

Steve really - he likes her. A lot. 

She’s the fourth therapist he’s gone to in as many years, and the first to just - laugh, and call him on his bullshit, and bite back, and. 

Steve’s been kissing a dead boy in his dreams for four years, and. He finds a little bite can go a long way. 

‘You should probably stop warning me, Steve. Or maybe warn me when you _don’t_ want to talk about him. Save us both the time.’ 

Steve - laughs. It’s a bitter, frail thing, and it’s the first laugh he’s let out in days. He counts that as a victory. Knows Lisa does, too. ‘I'm becoming predictable, huh.’ 

‘I'm getting paid to hear you talk, pal, not to judge what you talk about. It’s just - you haven’t really talked about anything else, Steve. Not once.’ She smiles at him, worried, fond. 

‘Haven’t really been thinkin’ about anything else, either.’ 

She nods. Picks up her notepad. Waves at him to start. 

Steve sighs. ‘It's just - It's been getting worse. I see him, all the time. I - dream about him and I - I never even _knew_ him, not really.’ 

‘What do you dream about?’ 

‘I see him, alive. Happy. I don't know, just - ’ he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. ‘It's so _real_. I see him, I can feel him, alive, _there_ , and then I wake up and he's just. Not there. Gone.’ 

‘What do you see him doing, in your dreams?’ 

And that's - that's the million dollar question. Steve has been successfully avoiding giving an answer for - months. Seems like there's no getting out of it this time. 

‘We're - we're _together_. Like. Me and him, we're happy, we have a - a life here, and a house, a bed. He - kisses me,’ he drags out, and it feels like betraying something. ‘He holds me, and he kisses me, and he smiles at me, and it's - it was _never_ like that, okay, never. He _hated_ me. I don't think I've ever even _seen_ him smiling.’ 

He stops. He can feel the tears at the corners of his eyes, can feel the weight on his chest, Lisa's eyes on him. He breathes, in and out. ‘I just. I just wanna stop feeling this way. I want it to stop.’ 

‘Steve,’ Lisa starts, licks her lips, ‘I'm not sure I know how to help you. I mean, you've barely told me anything about him, or how he died, or what you've been through, and I respect that, I do. I meant what I said, you choose what you tell me and what you keep to yourself, but - ’ 

She sighs. She cares about him, Steve knows that. Wants to help, to find a way to get him out of his head. 

Steve thinks maybe it's unfair to be putting that burden on her, too. 

‘You've been coming here for six months, Steve. And you've been talking about him, and crying about him, and wasting your life dreaming about him, and at first I thought it might help you, you know, cope with your survivor’s guilt, but - It's been six months, and I don't think you're ever living outside your head anymore.’ 

Steve sputters. ‘I don't - I don't have _survivor’s guilt_ , I - do I?’ 

She smiles at him. ‘You survived, he didn't, and you've spent the last four years dreaming about him. I'd say that's a pretty clear case of survivor’s guilt. Although falling in love with the guy is giving it a pretty original twist, I’ll give you that.’ 

And isn’t _that_ a punch to the gut. Steve’s in love. Steve’s in love with Billy Hargrove. The boy who died to save - everyone Steve cares about, Hawkins, the whole _fuckin’_ world. 

Billy’s dead, and Steve’s in love with him. 

It hits him out of nowhere. It’s - Steve’s never - he’s never thought about it this way before. 

And like. How did he _miss_ this? 

He’s been waking up to the feel of Billy’s lips pressed against his own, to tears in his eyes, to a black void inside him, for the last four years, and. 

He runs his fingers through his hair. Looks at Lisa, sitting there, waiting for him to - to _get_ it. 

‘How did this happen? Lisa, it was never - I never wanted him like that, not when he was alive.’ He stops. Thinks back to - orange tiles, and sweat, and _pretty boy like you_. ‘Did I?’ 

Lisa shrugs. ‘If I had to take a wild guess, I’d say there was always an underlying attraction to him, definitely a subconscious one. From what you’ve told me, I can only assume it was mutual.’ 

Steve shakes his head, because - no. No, that - that’s one thing he’s sure of. ‘It wasn’t. Billy wasn’t - he wasn’t like that.’ 

She looks - severely unconvinced. ‘Still. I think you were always - fascinated by him, drawn, maybe, and him dying kinda - intensified that, turned him into a hero, if that makes sense? To the point of obsession. To the point of creating a version of him inside your head, a world where he’s still alive, where you were able to save him, and then. Falling in love with that version.’ 

‘So I’m not - I’m not in love with _him_ , not really, just with the Billy in my head?’ 

She sighs, again. ‘I don’t know, Steve. Like I said, you’ve given me very little to work with. I don’t know how he died, I don’t know how he was like when he was alive, I don’t even know why you feel like it was _your_ responsibility to save him.’ 

Steve’s quiet for a long time. Can’t find - the words, can’t fight the noose he feels tightening around his throat. Can’t get Billy’s eyes, _blueblueblue_ , out of his head. 

‘I can’t - I can’t tell you how he died, not the entire truth, anyway. Wish I could,’ he says, finally. ‘Dustin - he calls it my hero complex. Always have to save everyone, make sure everyone’s safe, always forgetting to look after myself.’ 

He lets out a laugh, bitter and twisted and _wrong_. 

Lisa waits him out. 

‘But it wasn’t - like that, not with him. I didn’t. I didn’t do _anything_. Didn’t try to save him, didn’t care enough, I just - ’ He closes his eyes, lets tears create tracks down his neck, takes a few breaths. ‘I just let him _die_. I could’ve tried, I had so many chances to _try_ , to do _something_ , and I - I didn’t.’ 

‘It wasn't _on_ you to - ’ 

‘No, you're right,’ Steve cuts her off, because he needs, needs to get this out, ‘it wasn't on me to save him. Wasn't my responsibility to save his life. But I should've tried, should've done everything I could to, and I - I didn't. I just stood there and let it happen. I stood there and watched him _die_.’ 

He stops, because he doesn't have anything else to say, because he's not sure he can, because his voice is breaking the same way Max's did, four years and five months and nineteen days ago, _Billy_ , echoing through his brain in a loop, _BillyBillyBilly_. 

Lisa sighs in a way that means their time is up, in a way that means _I wish I knew how to help you_. 

Steve wishes she did, too. 

‘Listen,’ she says, careful, quiet, ‘I can spend hours trying to get you to accept the past is gone, that everything that's happened cannot be changed, that your boy’s dead, and there's nothing you can do about it, but - ’ she takes a breath, ‘I have enough sense to know you don't need to be told any of that, to see you already know everything I might want to tell you.’ 

Steve huffs a breath, knows where this is going, has known for months. 

‘I don't know how to help you, Steve. I'm not even sure I can, not with the trauma you're dealing with. It's you who has to force yourself out of your head, accept he's dead and move on with your life. No one else can do it for you.’ She bites her lip, and Steve knows she's already carrying half his guilt, kinda hates himself for it. ‘That being said - it's Christmas. People have this odd tendency to believe in miracles this time of year. Maybe - maybe you’ll get yours.’ 

Steve smiles, shakes her hand, tries to show how much he appreciates her kindness without words. 

She smiles back, and Steve knows she understands. 

— 

It’s two days before Christmas, and the world is full of lights. 

Steve walks through the streets, looking at the shop windows, smiling at the carolers, avoiding going back to his place, his small, and dark, and empty place. 

It doesn’t really snow in Philly. It rains, and gets muddy, and cold, and wet, but. It doesn’t really snow, not the way it does back home, bone-chilling and sudden and - 

Steve shakes his head, shakes away the thought of Hawkins, the thought of snow, because snow belongs in fairytales, and Hawkins - Hawkins doesn’t _do_ fairytale. 

Hawkins is _home_ , and nightmares, and blood. 

Hawkins is Billy, and Billy's gone. 

He walks, and looks at the crowd, at the people who live their lives, and Steve knows, he knows problems follow everyone, darkness too, knows everyone has some reasons to smile, more reasons not to, and. 

He thinks being in love with a dead boy that keeps kissing him in his dreams is a special kind of tragedy. 

He has to go back home, eventually, even though he's got the next three days off, even though he has nowhere to be, Dustin’s voice in his head a constant reminder, of guilt, of loss, of _everyone_ , of - 

_Not everyone_. 

He makes a stop at the grocery store before going home, buys enough cups of instant noodles to last him through the holidays, an excessive amount of Snickers, three bottles of cheap, apple-flavored wine. 

Tries not to think of Joyce, and Dustin, and a house full of people, of food, of warmth, of - 

_Not everyone_. 

— 

He finds his apartment lit up, bathed in the glow of small, white lights, and it's - 

It's what people do, at Christmas, they put up lights, and decorate their houses with them, make their lives a fraction brighter, just for a while, just until Christmas and its magic wears off, but - 

The thing is - 

Steve doesn't - he doesn't take them _down_. 

Billy's been dead for four years, and five months, and nineteen days, and Steve put up lights the moment he got discharged from the hospital, on the fifth of July, 1985, back when he still lived in Hawkins, in the bedroom he grew up but was never his own, not really, and didn't take them down, not once, and then he got his own apartment, far, far away from Hawkins, and Steve had a mattress to unroll, and boxes to unpack, and a house to clean, and the first thing he did, the moment the door was closed between him and the rest of the world, the first thing he did was - 

Steve untangled the lights, and put them up, all around his living room, and hasn't taken them down since, because - 

Because people in the city, in every _other_ city in the world, they put up lights for Christmas, and take them down when the holidays are over, and it doesn't _mean_ anything, it doesn't mean - 

But the thing is - people back in Hawkins, back where Steve grew up, too fast, suddenly, _painfully_ , people back in Hawkins - they put up lights when they _lose_ someone. 

That's what Joyce did, all those years ago, when everyone kept telling her Will was gone, and Joyce knew, believed, hoped against hope he wasn't, except - except it turned out it _wasn't_ against hope, because Will came back, back from the dead, and Joyce had put up lights, because she'd lost him, so. 

So people in Hawkins put up lights when they lose someone, and that's what Joyce did when she lost Will, and that's what Steve's done, because he lost - 

He lost - 

And the thing is - 

The thing is - 

Sometimes, when Steve's sitting in his living room, watching tv, not really watching, thinking about his life, about the world, about Billy, sometimes - the lights _flicker_ , and. 

And Will came back, and Joyce never believed he was gone anyway, and Billy - he was never Steve's, never his to lose, never his to mourn, but - 

Sometimes, the lights flicker, and Steve always, _always_ dreams about Billy, but when the lights flicker, on those nights, it's - it's almost scary, how real the Billy of his dreams is. 

It's almost scary, and weird, and really, really sad, because Steve wakes up, and Billy's lips were on his a moment ago, and Steve wakes up, and they're not. 

— 

He boils a cup of noodles, drinks half a bottle of cheap wine, hates himself for being unable to get drunk on it, turns on the tv, settles on - 

It's an old movie, one of those black-and-white, golden-era Hollywood ones, one of the few he remembers watching with his mom, on one of the handful of Christmases she actually spent in Hawkins, and it's - 

It's - 

_Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?_

And Steve laughs, kinda crazy, kinda lost, because of course, of course the only Christmas movie Belinda made him watch was about this, about a man wanting to - to die, okay, and about an angel, and about - 

_Ripples_ , Lisa would say. _Everything you do ripples, and expands, and has consequences_. 

And it's actually - it's a really _good_ fuckin’ movie, and Steve cries in a way he hasn't for a long time, cries about the movie, and his life, and not about Billy, but it kind of is about him, anyway, because everything kind of is, nowadays, everything has been about Billy for - 

Steve thinks _four years_ , and then thinks, _don't lie_ , because - 

Because it was all about Billy from the beginning, from the first roll of engine, the first look, the first shove, and. 

And Billy's gone, so. 

Steve watches the movie, and Jimmy Stewart gets his happy ending, and Steve cries, because it's not _fair_. 

— 

And Steve - he's a light sleeper, okay, has been ever since he walked in that house full of lights, and monsters, and teeth, and that was six years ago, and Billy died two years later, and Steve hasn't really slept since _that_ , at all, so. 

It's not a noise, really it's not, it's more - the absence of it that wakes him up, because he opens his eyes, and everything's quiet in a way it never is, in a way Steve is painfully familiar with, because Steve's spent years, and years, and years, pretending he's not there, making himself invisible, unnoticed, being as quiet as humanly possible, and then some, because that's what feeling like a burden will do to ya, and. 

And the sky's still dark outside, and the only lights are the ones in Steve's living room, except he turned them off before he went to bed, he _always_ does, but now can see them, flickering like crazy, and Steve thinks of fireworks, and monsters, and - 

He gets up, walks in the room, and there's a shadow on his couch, except it's not a shadow, not even a little, and Billy Hargrove died four years and five months and nineteen - _twenty_ \- days ago, but apparently he _didn't_ , because Steve's in his living room, and the lights are flickering, and it's Christmas Eve, and Billy Hargrove is sitting on his couch. 

And then Billy, who is either _not_ dead, or a really, really convincing hallucination conjured by Steve's sleep-deprived brain, gets up, comes close to Steve, says, ‘You've been especially loud, lately, pretty boy,’ and. 

And like. Dream Billy never says stuff like that, mostly ever smiles, and laughs, and kisses Steve, so. 

So that means Billy's alive, and standing in Steve's living room, and calling Steve _pretty boy_ , like it's his business, like it's 1984, like they're not a week away from the new decade, like - 

Like Steve hasn't spent the last four years _mourning_ him, and. 

Billy says _pretty boy_ , and that's as far as he gets, because Steve punches him. 

— 

And okay, Steve knows this is Billy, actual, real-life, miraculously-back-from-the-dead Billy, mainly because there has been absolutely no amount of kissing for the entire thirty minutes they've spent in Steve's kitchen, Billy holding a pack of frozen mini pizza bagels to his face, Steve holding one round his fist, but. 

Billy Hargrove, the one from four years ago, the one who said stupid things like _nobody tells me what to do_ , and _there's that fire_ , and _pretty boy_ , the one who broke a plate on Steve's head, left his mark on Steve right on the edge of Steve's hairline, the one who got possessed, and tried to kill everyone, and then kinda made up for it by fuckin’ _dying_ saving them, _that_ Billy - 

That Billy would've taken a punch, and said something like _what the fuck, Harrington_ , or _you're even more stupid than I remember_ , or _what kind of adult has only frozen pizza bagels in his freezer_ , but. 

The Billy sitting on the counter in front of Steve is - quiet, and still, and _calm_ , and that's - 

That's just wrong. 

It’s wrong, so. 

‘I'm sorry. Y’know. For hitting ya.’ 

Billy - _laughs_. He _laughs_. Steve has never, in all the time he knew Billy Hargrove, in all the time he’s spent dreaming about him, he has never heard him laughing, not like that, soft and quiet and like it’s - punched out of him, like it was unplanned. 

‘I'm hurt, Harrington,’ he says, and his voice is muffled by the cloth around the stupid frozen pizza bagels, but it sounds rough too, unused, like maybe Billy _did_ just come back from the dead, like maybe he hasn’t used words to anyone for four years. ‘I really thought you’d be happy to see me. You never shut up about me.’ 

Steve doesn’t - he doesn’t know what this means. 

He doesn’t know what it means, and it doesn’t really matter, because - 

‘You were _dead_ , Billy, we - I saw you _dying_ ,’ he bites out, doesn’t look at Billy, _can’t_ look at him, ‘You don’t just - survive tentacles through your chest, okay, you just _don’t_.’ 

Billy smiles, a lopsided, smug thing, and it’s the closest _this_ Billy’s come to the one Steve remembers from so many years ago, from basketball practice, and parking lots, and showers. ‘ _I_ did.’ 

Steve closes his eyes. Counts his breaths, in-and-out, in-and-out, thinks about Lisa, about coping mechanisms, about rows of teeth breaking skin, drawing blood. Clenches his fists, knows he’ll punch Billy again if he doesn’t. 

He runs a hand through his hair, makes a mess, a bigger one than sleep has. ‘Yeah, you - you did. God, you _did_.’ 

He looks at Billy then, finds him looking right back, a layer of patience over him, strange and unfamiliar, and Steve wants - 

He wants - 

He licks his lips. ‘How _did_ you? Actually, you know what, it doesn’t matter how you survived. I - Where have you been, Billy? All these years, where - ’ 

He stops, again, needs to breathe through the thing in his throat, choking, choking. 

‘Harrington - ’ 

‘No, we - we _mourned_ you, Billy, we _buried_ you. Max cried herself to sleep for _months_ , El - they, they _moved_ , okay, like, five states away, and she still made Joyce drive her back once a month to visit your grave, to _cry_ , because she felt _responsible_ , Billy, she thought - she thought you died because of _her_.’ 

‘I know.’ 

And okay, Steve knows Billy hasn’t punched him again, and it still feels like all the air in his lungs disappears. 

He knows the answer, and he still has to ask, has to hear it from Billy’s lips, because - 

Because - 

‘You - what do you mean you know? Billy what - what does that mean?’ 

He looks at Billy, and Billy looks - he looks achingly, painfully guilty, and _that’s_ something Billy Hargrove has never looked like before, and. 

‘I was there.’ He looks at Steve, something like defiance, like sadness, like loss in his eyes. ‘In Hawkins. At my funeral, I was there. I saw Max. El.’ He smiles, softly. ‘You.’ 

Steve looks at the tiles, counts the blacks, counts the whites, digs his fingers in his thighs, because Billy was _there_. All this time, Billy was - 

He was _there_. 

He laughs, bitter and mean. ‘Of course you were, of course you were there. And it never - never crossed your mind to, I don’t know, _say_ something? Maybe let Max know her brother wasn’t _dead_ instead of letting us - plan a whole _funeral_ for you?’ 

‘It wasn’t safe, Harrington,’ comes the answer, and it’s so much closer than Steve thought, _Billy_ is, and Steve’s kitchen is already pretty cramped, but Billy doesn’t - he doesn’t need to be this close, and. 

Steve shakes his head, doesn’t understand. 

‘It wasn’t safe for me to let you all know I was alive. Didn’t really remember everything, anyway.’ 

Steve makes a noise, hopes Billy gets it, because Steve needs to know what that means, what _all_ of that means. 

There’s a sigh, tired, worn out, and then. 

‘When I woke up, everyone was gone. I woke up buried under rubble, and the mall was gone, and no one was there, not you, not the kids, not the fuckin’ - _monster_ thing. I - whatever it was it did to me, it must’ve transferred some of its powers, because I was - it was like the night before never happened, Harrington. No scars, no wounds, _nada_. I woke up, found a car in the parking lot, drove back to town, and I - ’ 

He stops, lets out a scoff. ‘I didn’t remember _anything_. Not my name, not Max, not my fa - _nothing_ , okay, I was just goin’ by instinct, driving down roads that seemed familiar, but - that was it, nothing else.’ 

‘And then what happened? How did you - it must’ve come back to you, at some point. Everyone was talking about you, that summer, fuck, that whole _year_. Your face was on every newspaper in town.’ 

‘Yeah, I figured out pretty early on it was better if I didn’t show my face, at least not immediately. I didn’t know _why_ , only knew what the papers said, _hero dies saving girl from fire_ and what have you. I spent weeks thinking that was the truth, and I still knew well enough to keep hidin’.’ 

‘Why did you stay? You could’ve driven away, gone somewhere people didn’t know you,’ Steve says, and it tastes bitter on his tongue. 

‘I told you, I - I was runnin’ on instinct, broken images, faces that reminded me of things I couldn’t place. I needed to find out what’d happened to me, and it made sense to stay in the one place where people at least seemed to - seemed familiar.’ Billy stops, shrugs, licks his lips. 

Steve - his eyes follow, okay, because Billy here, and solid, and alive, doesn’t erase four years of kissing, of touching, of - 

Of falling in - 

‘So how did it come back? Your memory?’ he says, because he needs to know, because Billy’s been through hell and back, because Steve needs a distraction, needs an out, needs to _stop thinking about Billy’s lips_. 

‘Saw Max one day, after school. Followed her home,’ and Steve doesn’t miss - doesn’t miss the way Billy says _home_ and doesn’t mean it, like the world is foreign in his mouth, like that house back in Hawkins never was, ‘saw her goin’ in my - my room. Saw her crying.’ 

‘Yeah. She - did that. A lot.’ 

Billy smiles something bitter. ‘Yeah, I kinda - spent the next few months figuring that out. It was - that first time I saw her crying, it was like a spell was broken, you know? Like a fuckin’ fairytale. Max’s tears brought me back.’ He shakes his head, huffs out a breath. ‘Spent a long time convincing myself I deserved them.’ 

‘You saved everyone, Billy. You _died_ saving everyone. Well. You didn’t _die_ , but. Of course you deserved it. Max was broken. Still is.’ 

Billy’s expression is a pained one, and Steve has never seen him so small, so fragile, when he says, ‘It wasn’t safe. I - I missed her so much, and I - it wasn’t s _afe_. I couldn’t risk putting her in danger. None of you.’ 

‘Billy, it’s okay,’ Steve says, and he finds he means it, even after four years of crying about a boy that was never gone in the first place. ‘I mean. It’s not, of course it’s not, none of this is, but. It’s not your fault, either. You were just trying to protect Max. Us.’ 

‘I - after I got back my memory, I - I could’ve gone, but. I stayed. To keep an eye on her. Make sure she went on with her life. Make sure Neil was - ’ he swallows down something sour, clenches his jaw, ‘make sure Max was _safe_.’ 

He takes a step closer, holds Steve’s gaze, says, ‘Kept an eye on you, too. You seemed - sad. Lost.’ 

Steve can’t really breathe, is kinda drowning in Billy’s eyes, so. ‘Watching you getting plowed by a monster made of human parts fucked me up, Billy. What did you expect?’ 

Billy shakes his head, and Steve knows he’s not getting out of it, not now. Figures he kind of owes it to Billy, anyway. 

Billy says, ‘Steve - ’ and. 

And Steve’s eyes are already giving up on holding back the tears, so. ‘I let you die, okay? I stood there, and I watched you die, and I didn’t do a thing to stop it. I couldn’t save you.’ 

‘Oh.’ 

‘Oh. Is that - is that all? That what you have to say? I’ve spent the last four years of my life replaying the moment I - I crashed into your car and left you to _burn alive_ , Billy, and the scream Max left when that - that _thing_ got your heart, and there’s a voice in my head, that never fuckin’ shuts up, that keeps telling me I didn’t try, not try _enough_ , I didn’t try to save you, _at all_.’ 

‘It wasn’t your fault I got - ’ 

‘No, you’re right. It wasn’t. It wasn’t my fault the gate opened, and monsters got in, and it wasn’t my fault you got possessed. But it absolutely was my fault that I never tried to find a way to help you, the way I would’ve for everybody else.’ 

‘I don’t think that’s true. I think you were just trying to protect the kids, and I was the one you had to protect them _from_. Didn’t really give you the time to save me.’ 

Steve shakes his head. ‘No, no, it’s not - it’s not like that, okay? I could’ve said something, there were plenty of moments where I could’ve just - just asked, tried to find another way, tried to get this thing out of you, and I didn’t, and now I’ve spent the last four years of my life _dreaming_ about you.’ 

And, okay, Billy wasn’t supposed to know about that, but. 

‘I know,’ Billy says, and Steve doesn’t react, not for a minute, because - 

Because - 

‘You - you _know_? What does that - ’ he says, just on this edge of hysterical, and then, _then_ , ‘You said - the first thing you said, what was it, you said - _especially loud lately_. What does that _mean_ , Billy?’ 

And Billy - he looks even more guilty than before, and Steve didn’t even think _that_ was possible, and. 

‘I _did_ say I got some powers from that thing,’ he mutters, and then, ‘I can hear your thoughts.’ 

‘You can - you can _hear my thoughts_. Like. Hear them. In your head. Know what I'm thinking. You can do that,’ Steve says, flatly. 

‘I - yeah? I mean, not _all_ of them, just - ’ 

‘So, what, you walk around town and just _know_ what everyone's thinking? You can hear their minds?’ 

‘No, Harrington, just - just yours. I can only hear _your_ thoughts.’ 

And Steve opens his mouth, closes it, doesn't have the slightest idea _what_ to say, feels kinda breathless, kinda hopeful, kinda lost, because Steve's spent the last four years dreaming about Billy, but Billy's spent them listening to Steve's thoughts, and Steve's in love with Billy, apparently, that's what dreaming about someone for four years means, so maybe - 

Maybe - 

And Billy says, ‘Not all of them, I can't hear all your thoughts, just - just when you think about me, when it's really intense, like you're - like you're actually _speaking_ to me in your mind, I - yeah.’ 

‘Why?’ Steve asks, because he needs to _know_ , needs to know if - ‘Why me? Why _my_ thoughts, Billy? We were never - ’ 

‘I don't know, okay? I don't know. I woke up one day, and I was still in Hawkins, but you weren't, and I didn't know where you'd gone, and it's not like I could ask Max, or anyone else, and then I started listening to your stupid voice in my head.’ He takes a breath, deep, vital. ‘At first I thought I was doing it. Like. Masking the things I said to myself in your voice, and then - ’ 

Steve is breathless. Steve is - 

‘Then?’ 

‘Then you started talking about things I couldn't've known, about Starcourt, about that monster, about the way I - the way I died. Things I didn't remember.’ Billy looks at Steve, searches his eyes, says, quiet, ‘Things I never thought you'd think about me. Things I didn't deserve, not from you.’ 

And then, _then_ , Steve gets it, _gets_ it, because Billy said _didn't know where you'd gone_ , and he said _listening to your stupid voice_ , and Billy's right _here_ , right in Steve's kitchen, and that means - 

It means - 

‘How long have you been here, Billy? In Philly?’ 

And it's a quiet thing, the answer that comes out of Billy, almost - embarrassed, like he's - like he's _caught_ , ‘Three years. Came here right after Susan threw Neil out. After I made sure Max was - Max was safe.’ 

And that's - 

That's - 

Steve's been dreaming about Billy, and his smile, and his lips, for four years, and five months, and nineteen - _twenty_ \- days, and living in this stupid, stupid apartment for the better part of them, left Hawkins six months after - after Billy _died_ there, and. 

And Billy's been here, right here, for three years, and Billy doesn't - he doesn't have a _reason_ to be here, does he, except - except _Steve's_ here, and Billy waited long enough for Max, and then came here, where he doesn't need to be, and _Steve's_ here, and. 

‘Three years. Three years, Billy, god, _three years_ , and you couldn't send a - a sign, a fuckin’ signal, _something_ to let me know you're not - _dead_ , not _one_ , I - ’ 

‘It wasn't _safe_ , Harrington, I _told_ you that, I couldn't - ’ Billy stops, closes his eyes, pinches his nose, like maybe this is hard, like maybe Steve should _get_ it, ‘I _wouldn't_ risk putting any of you in danger. Wouldn't risk putting _you_ in danger.’ 

‘So you just, what, decided to let me _dream_ about you for four years? Spent all this time listening to me _mourn_ you and just - didn't do anything about it?’ 

And Billy - he looks exhausted, tired in a way Steve understands, but maybe he doesn't, because Steve's spent the last four years mourning Billy, but Billy's spent them hiding, and relearning himself, and _protecting_ everyone, protecting _Steve_ , and Steve is mad, he _is_ , because four years is a long time to cry about someone you never had, never had the chance to have, and Billy's right _here_ , right where Steve's arms can - can _hold_ him, and. 

‘Why? Why _did_ you dream about me, Steve? Why _do_ you?’ 

And all the fight flies out of Steve, vanishes, evaporates into the air, leaves only this - this _need_ , and it's Christmas, and Steve doesn't believe in miracles, hasn't for a long, long time, but he thinks he's getting one anyway, so. 

‘I missed you. I miss you, everyday.’ 

‘ _Why_? We weren't - we were never - ’ Billy says, and he sounds as breathless as Steve feels, ‘You _hated_ me.’ 

‘That was you, Billy. You were the one who hated me. I never - I never _hated_ you. I _don't_ hate you. Not at all.’ 

And Billy - he bites his lip, seems to decide on something, like maybe Steve said the right thing, and isn't _that_ a fuckin’ novelty, takes a step closer, touches his fingers on the outside of Steve's palm, touch feather-light, barely there, like he's afraid, like he thinks he's doing the wrong thing, like maybe he isn't allowed, and. 

‘I came back from the dead for you, Steve. I don't hate you. I don't - I don't hate you.’ 

And okay, Billy's mouth is really close, and Steve's been dreaming about it for four years, and Billy's lips are split open, still kinda bloody, and Steve's knuckles are red to match, and. 

He holds Billy's face in his hands, tilts his head, brings their mouths together, finally, _finally_ , and Billy - he kinda gasps, opens his mouth against Steve's, and Steve isn't one to pass any opportunity, has spent way too long dreaming about this kiss to, licks into Billy's mouth, swallows Billy's moan, his gasp, his _breath_ , and it's perfect, it's _perfect_ , and then - 

'Be careful, baby, _ow_ ,’ Billy's says, drawing back, and Steve's kinda struck by _baby_ to complain, and Billy doesn't really go that far, anyway, leans his forehead against Steve's, laughs in the space between them, because, ‘Some asshole landed one on me before. My lips _hurt_ , baby.’ 

And Steve laughs too, small, quiet, until - 

Until he looks at the boy in front of him, the boy who died protecting everyone, who's spent the last four years hiding, who's spent all his life getting hurt, and Steve - he hurt him some more, and couldn't protect him, didn't even try, and. 

‘Steve? Baby, what - what's wrong?’ Billy says, and he's stroking Steve's cheeks, his cheeks wet with tears, and Billy - 

Billy doesn't deserve _tears_ , doesn't deserve _punches_ , and Steve couldn't _save_ him, and - 

‘Steve - ’ 

‘I'm sorry. Billy, I'm so - so sorry, I'm so sorry about everything,’ he whispers, and Billy's still holding his face, still wiping his tears, still looking at him like Steve deserves _coming back from the dead_ for, like he - 

Like he - 

‘Look at me,’ he says, and then, ‘Steve, baby, look at me,’ waits until Steve does, says, ‘It wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault, and it wasn't mine, and no one could do anything.’ 

‘I couldn't save you, didn't even _try_ \- ’ 

‘I didn't make it easy for you. To save me. To care about me, back then, but - ’ he cups Steve's jaw, ‘We're here now. We're both here now, baby, we made it. We went through all that and came out alive, and, Steve, that has to - it _has_ to count for something, right? We deserve a chance, you and me. Not letting you get away, not again.’ 

And Steve - Steve _kisses_ him, buries his hands in Billy's hair, short now, shorter, still long enough to _tug_ , and he _does_ , Steve does, because he can, because Billy's here, and he's right, and Steve's been dreaming of this kiss for years, and he needs Billy to _know_ , so. 

‘God, I've missed this kiss so much. Been dreaming about it for four years,’ he says, a secret shared, and Billy - 

He breaks the kiss, this perfect, _perfect_ kiss, laughs, shakes his head, and Steve's _almost_ insulted, until - 

‘Been dreaming about your mouth for six years, baby. Been wanting to kiss you since the moment I saw you.’ 

And that - that's a _lot_ , that's too much, and it's Christmas, and Steve's apartment smells of sweat, and noodles, and cheap wine, and Billy's right here, alive, and smiling, and kissed out, and it's - it's _exactly_ like Steve's dreams, and Steve - 

He kisses Billy, kisses him, licks his lips, licks into his mouth, bites and nips and pushes, and smiles, _smiles_ against Billy's lips, says, ‘Please, please let me keep you. God, please tell me I can keep you. Don't - don't go away. Just - _stay_. Stay here. With me.’ 

‘Not goin’ anywhere, baby. I'm staying until you tell me to go. Stayin’ for as long as you'll have me,’ Billy says, and. 

‘You're never leaving, then, you know that, right? I'm never letting go away, like. Ever. You're stayin’ right here, with me. Hope you're prepared for that.’ 

Billy smiles, and it's exactly like Steve's dreams, except it's _not_ , because Steve could never - he could _never_ dream up a smile as bright as this, and kisses Steve's eyelids, kisses his brows, his nose, finds his mouth, brings their lips together, so soft, so sweet, and maybe - 

Maybe that means he's fine with - 

_Staying_. 

— 

They’re snuggled up together on Steve’s couch, Steve’s tiny, stupid couch, and Billy’s pressed against Steve’s side, plastered against him, like maybe distance isn’t something they’re doing anymore, and he’s holding a cup of hot chocolate, because Steve decided that Billy’s been through a lot, _a lot_ , and he deserves hot chocolate, and whipped cream, and marshmallows, a ton of them, so he made them some, and Billy didn’t complain, didn’t offer any snarky comments, kept watching Steve with soft eyes, kept smiling, and. 

It’s exactly like Steve’s dreams. 

Steve has never - he’s _never_ been happier. 

He’s got Billy in his arms, Steve’s nose buried in Billy’s hair, one hand curled around a mug, the other buried in soft curls, memorising - everything, every detail, and Billy’s breathing, alive, pressing closer every once in a while, nuzzling Steve’s neck, and he fits so perfectly there, in that space, in a way no one ever has before, and Steve breathes him in, kisses his hair, tightens his hold, keeping him close, keeping him there, and. 

Then, then he - he remembers that question, nagging in the back of his mind, so. 

‘Billy?’ he says, and kinda hates the way Billy hums, draws back to look him in the eyes, kinda wants to cry with how empty his arms feel now. ‘You said - it wasn’t safe for you to come back. Make contact.’ 

Billy laces their fingers together, places a kiss on Steve’s palm. ‘It wasn’t.’ 

‘Is - is it, now? Safe. For you to be here. Is - are _you_ safe?’ 

Billy looks at their hands, their legs, tangled together on the couch. ‘It is. Has been, for a while. For a few months now. I - I made sure. Covered all my tracks. No one has followed me in a long time.’ He licks his lips, nervous, uncertain. ‘Don’t think anyone even remembers me, anymore. No one cares. It’s been safe for a while, Stevie.’ 

Steve sucks in a breath, because - 

‘Then why didn’t you? Come back? Earlier, the moment you knew it was safe?’ 

Billy hasn’t looked at him since Steve asked that first question, eyes kept low, mouth tight around the edges, and Steve feels the loss of Billy’s gaze, Billy’s smile, _physically_ , viscerally. 

‘I wasn’t sure I’d be - welcome. In everyone’s lives. In yours,’ Billy says, quiet, so quiet, and it feels so _wrong_ , and it doesn’t make sense, because - 

‘Listening to me thinking about how much I wanted you back for four years didn’t tip you off?’ Steve asks, and it - 

It _works_ , and Billy laughs, soft, more a release of breath, like he’s been holding it all this time, more like relief, and Steve needs to - he needs to kiss him, okay, and he can, now, so. 

He does. 

He cups Billy’s face, mutters, _you idiot_ , against Billy’s lips, slots their mouths together, feels the way Billy’s lips are chapped, the way Steve’s been dreaming about, feels the moment Billy opens his mouth to inhale, to let Steve in, and Steve _goes_ , pushes his tongue in Billy’s mouth, licks into it, learning his taste, stealing his breath, giving it back, and he has to, he has to draw back when their lungs have used up all the air in them, so he does, he draws back, bites Billy’s bottom lip on the way, swallows down his groan, soothes the bite with a kiss. 

And it’s - it’s a hard thing to do, drawing back, after four years, and nineteen months, and twenty days of dreaming, and then Steve looks at Billy, hair a mess, lips red and bitten and wet, eyes soft, dark, full of want, and Steve thinks it’s worth it, drawing back, if the sight he gets for it is this, thinks he’d like to keep this, thinks he’d like to have this forever. 

And then he - he looks outside the window, and the sky’s a light grey, and it’s snowing, the kind of snow you see in movies, the kind you read about in fairytales, right after the obligatory Christmas miracle, and Steve looks at Billy on his couch, in his arms, thinks about miracles, about getting one even if he doesn’t believe in them, and. 

He needs to know, needs to know why _now_ , so. ‘Why now?’ he asks, feels the way Billy tenses in his arms, ‘What made you decide to come back now, Billy? After all these months?’ 

And Billy shrugs one shoulder, holds Steve’s face in his palms, holds Steve’s gaze, ‘You sounded sad, Stevie. _Really_ sad. And at first I thought - I thought it was because - it’s Christmas, everyone’s nostalgic, everyone thinks about those who’re not there, but you kept - kept sending out these signs, these thoughts, and I didn’t want to risk it. You kept asking for me, so. I came.’ 

And that’s - 

That’s - 

It’s something, all right. It’s _everything_. 

Steve nods, can feel the tears welling up again, pushes them back, because this isn’t what this is, not anymore, draws Billy close instead, hugs him, rests his head on the crook of Billy’s neck, breathes him in, listens to his breathing, feels his pulse, there, _there_ , his very own Christmas miracle, and. 

And then - 

_Miracle_. 

‘Billy, sweetheart, wait, I’ve got to - do something. I need to call someone,’ he says, drawing back, kisses the pout on Billy’s lips away, walks to the kitchen, to the phone on the wall, grabs the receiver, dials the number, walks around the corner to look at Billy, to keep him in his vision, to make sure he’s still there, not gone, not a ghost, and Billy _is_ , is looking at him kinda confused, kinda amused, kinda fond, more than anything else, and. 

The tone rings, goes to voicemail, because it’s Christmas, and no one’s working, no one will be there, and Steve’s counting on that, counting on his message being found in a few days, a tinny voice in a machine, talking about miracles coming true. 

‘Hey Lisa,’ he says, ‘I’m just calling to let you know I won’t be coming to our next appointment. Actually, I - I won’t be coming back, at all. I - don’t really need it, anymore.’ He draws in a breath, holds Billy’s gaze, smiles softly. ‘You were right, Lisa. Miracles - they happen. I got my own, Lisa. I got my miracle. Merry Christmas.’ 

He hangs up, blindly hooking up the phone, unwilling to drop Billy’s gaze, unwilling to look away, and Billy holds out his arms, says, ‘C’mere, baby,’ and. 

And Steve does. 

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](https://aspartaeme.tumblr.com/)
> 
> title from the pull of you by the national
> 
> the movie steve watches is 'it's a wonderful life' (1946), which is one of these features-in-every-must-see-movies-list-and-actually-deserves-it kinda film, so. if you're like me and b&w movies are your safe space, i'd def recommend giving it a try


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